Audrey sat and looked at him for a moment. Then
lightly she rose and stood before him.

“Tell me, please!” she said imperiously.

He made a sharp gesture of remonstrance.

“Sorry,” he said, after a moment, as she
waited inexorably. “I can’t!”

“Oh, but you can!” she returned.
“You’re not to say you won’t to me.”

He looked down at her.

“I am sorry!” he said less brusquely.
“But it can’t be done. It isn’t
worth a tussle, I assure you, nor is it worth the possible
annoyance it might cause you if you had your way.
Look here, can’t we talk of something else?”

“Don’t be absurd!” said Audrey.
Her face was flushed and determined. She was
bent upon having her own way in this, at least.
“I shall begin to hate you in a minute.”

But Phil could be determined, too.

“Can’t help it,” he said; but there
was genuine regret in his voice. “You’ll
have to, I’m afraid.”

He was scarcely prepared for the effect of his words.
She flung away from him in tempestuous anger and turned
as if to leave the room. But before she reached
the door some other impulse apparently overtook her.
She stopped abruptly with her back to Phil, and stood
for what seemed to him interminable seconds, fumbling
with her handkerchief.

Then, before he had fully realised the approaching
catastrophe, her self-control suddenly deserted her.
She sank into a chair with her hands over her face
and began to cry.

Now, Phil was young, and no woman had ever thus abandoned
herself to tears in his presence before. The
sight sent a sharp shock through him that was almost
like a dart of physical pain. It paralysed him
for an instant; but the next he strode forward, convention
flung to the winds, desirous only to comfort.
He reached her and bent over her, one hand upon her
shaking shoulder.